Andrea Trejo (age 18)

Metepec, Mexico

La nervadura de una hoja, líneas paralelas o sin rumbo que sobresalen de su piel, se encarga de circular la savia y conectar cada rincón de la planta. Mis venas, caminos sin fin alguno por los cuales circula mi sangre, desde el corazón hasta la punta de mis dedos. Tú y yo no somos tan diferentes, nos unen líneas interminables, por lo que cuando intento escucharte lo hago como si tú fueras yo, se que un rayito de sol en la mañana te da energía para seguir todo el día y que escuchar una melodía te hace bailar, lo sé porque esas cosas hacen que se acelere mi corazón y que siga fluyendo por mis venas aquello que me mantiene con vida, y así como funciono yo, lo haces tú.

La única diferencia es que yo dependo de ti, pero tú no de mi.

The leaf rib, parallel lines with no guide to follow that bulge from its skin, is in charge of circulating the sap connecting every corner of the plant. My veins, paths with no ends that fulfill their function by taking the blood from my heart to the tip of my fingers. You and I, we are not so different at all, we are connected by unending lines. When I try to listen to you, I have in mind that you are me. I know that a sunbeam every morning gives you enough energy until the day ends and that listening to music makes you dance. I know this because these things make my heartbeat go faster and keep me alive, flowing in my veins. Just the way my body works, so does yours.

Our difference is that you can live without me, but I cannot live without you.

Xiaolong Zhao (age 19)

Baotou, Mongolia

The objects in the picture are called the Four Treasures of the Study. They are brushes, inkstones, paperweights, and Xuan paper. On the right of the photograph, one brush is made of wolf hair and the other is made of wool. They have different nib hardnesses because they have different functions. On the top of the picture is the inkstone decorated by a carved dragon and a Chinese scroll, which symbolizes majesty. The inkstone is a special stone, and its function is to hold the ink stick that will be ground and mixed with water to make liquid ink, which will be transferred to the right container. On the left of the picture are two paperweights, and the pattern on them is bamboo from the Three Friends of Winter. These two heavier stones are responsible for keeping the paper flat. In the middle is Xuan paper, a specially crafted calligraphy paper. The word written on the paper is 福（blessing)—this Chinese character symbolizes peace and happiness. My mother and I like to use these tools to practice calligraphy. In the picture, I am writing calligraphy. My mother taught me calligraphy when I was very young. For my family, calligraphy not only represents a skill; it also cultivates one's mind and temperament. Because of my studies, I do not have time to study calligraphy systematically. Whenever I have free time, I always like to open the window and let the sunshine and breeze sprinkle onto the desk in the warm afternoon air. I like to feel the roughness of the ink particles and the smoothness of the Xuan paper, and forget all the worries in life to make my artwork.

I have always been curious about the evolution of other scripts, such as the ancient Greek alphabet, Egyptian hieroglyphs, cuneiform, and Indus Scripts. Unfortunately, these scripts and their cultures have all fallen into the long river of history. These characters are like mysterious codes waiting for humans to crack. There is only a little connection between them and the modern scripts, and their vitality is like a flame from a burned out candle. At this time, I feel the greatness of Chinese characters more and more. This is the only living ancient writing system with its own unique writing methods and instruments. I feel very fortunate that my culture is not locked away in a museum. It is in the homes of ordinary Chinese people who love and are still writing calligraphy, a part of the Chinese culture. Whenever I hold a brush, I feel I am connected to history. Whether it is ancient poetry or novels, ancient military orders or edicts, they were all written with the tools in my hand and the characters I use. How romantic is this! It's like passing the Olympic flame. Every Chinese dynasty, every Chinese emperor, and every ordinary person will pass the Chinese culture from generation to generation. The fire of the times burns traces of the old dynasty, but they cannot burn away all the traces of culture. This is not only a miracle for the Chinese people but also a miracle for humanity. Today, Chinese traditional culture has met with modern development. Calligraphy has a new life, and people don't need to commemorate it because it still exists.

Mariana Sánchez (age 17)

Mexico City, Mexico

These are my great-grandfather’s glasses. His name was Indalecio Huitrón Miranda. I remember listening to his name and imagining how lovely getting to know him must have been. I never had the chance to do so. Grandfather Indalecio, also known as “Papalecho,” had a very entrepreneurial spirit. He dedicated his life to agriculture, cultivating citrus and coffee, and herding horses. In his last years of life, he put a candy stand on the corner of the main street of Teziutlán, a small town in the state of Puebla, here in Mexico. He was a humble, generous man, who led a tough, yet beautiful life. When my father told me stories about him and how he used to live, his glasses were always in the picture. This object, being so representative of him, was passed on to my grandfather and later on, to my dad. He tells me the Mexican glasses, made out of copper, are from the 1950s, approximately 70 years old. My father keeps them on a special shelf where they are safe from falling or breaking. I decided to take this photograph because the glasses and the picture behind them bring my father great memories of his grandpa. It is always very moving for me to experience these emotional moments with him. I will want the glasses to endure for a long time so that his memory stays with my family and is not left behind. Part of the reason behind taking this photograph is that the Day of the Dead is around the corner in Mexico right now. Even though this festivity is celebrated once a year, my family and I keep my great-grandfather’s memory alive through his copper glasses.

Ian Rosenzweig (age 14)

Pennsylvania, U.S.

My artifact is an extremely important piece of my family’s history in America and a representation of the values we hold closely. It is a book entitled Seder Avodah for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This translates from Hebrew to “Order of Service for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.” Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are the Jewish New Year and Jewish Day of Repentance. They are the two most important holidays of the Jewish year and are referred to as the High Holy Days. This specific prayer book was passed down to my mother from her parents. It was written in 1960 by Rabbi Max D. Klein of Adath Jeshurun Synagogue (known as AJ), which was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It is now in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania. Congregants brought the book with them to the services.

Today, most synagogues provide prayer books. The book belonged to my great-grandmother, Bella Zemble. AJ was the congregation my great-grandparents’ belonged to. Their three sons (including my grandfather) had their Bar Mitzvahs (Jewish Right of Passage ceremonies) there, my mother had her Bat Mitzvah there, and my parents were married there. AJ is a strong piece of our family’s history. Using this book was a joyous aspect of the difficult holiday services we endured in the pandemic environment. It allowed us to pray and participate in our service without squinting at the computer screen for hours on end, and it helped us to link our heritage, which felt particularly important this year since we had to socially distance from our relatives with whom we usually celebrate the holidays. The machzor brought up memories for all of us. It made us recall past, happier High Holy Days when we were able to pray in the synagogue with our community and be with our family, which were both missing elements from the online service. My mom thought about her grandmother who passed away when she was twelve years old.

My sister and I learned about our family’s history. We knew about the importance of Adath Jeshurun to our family and that my grandparents are still congregants at AJ, but there was so much more wrapped up in that little book. We learned about what a service day looked like for our great-grandparents and grandparents. We learned about my great-grandparents' untimely deaths within a year of each other. We learned about a synagogue that held so much importance in our family’s past, including memories of all life cycle events. But most importantly, I discovered a piece of my family that was buried deeply beneath the stories of family history that I typically hear: the stories of the Holocaust and the countless family members lost and the anti-Semitism that stripped my family of equal opportunity in Europe and in America. This book initiated discussions of happier times and I learned positive stories about the continuity of this synagogue and this book within my family. I learned about my family, their synagogue and the prayer book that was issued to them 60 years ago which is used on the exact days of the Jewish calendar that I use them on, forming a connection between myself and my great-grandparents. All these connections took place through an artifact that had no monetary value, but was treasured because it signified the ability to pray and live as Jews in a free country. It not only allowed us to experience feelings that we are meant to feel on our High Holy Days, but also express feelings passed down to us through my great-grandmother’s Seder Avodah, her prayer book.

Mercer Weis (age 17)

California, U.S.

San Francisco, one of California's largest and busiest cities, is home to one of the most extraordinary landmarks in history: The Golden Gate Bridge. The Golden Gate Bridge, standing at a height of a staggering 227 meters and spanning 1.7 miles across the beautiful San Francisco Bay, connects the big city of San Francisco and the mountainous Marin County. For almost ninety years, the Golden Gate Bridge has offered the public a convenient, effective, and trustworthy form of transportation. After surviving a massive earthquake and human gridlock, the bridge still stands as one of the world’s largest bridges. Thousands of construction workers and materials built the bridge. One construction piece, the rivet, played a small but vital part in the formation and development of the Golden Gate Bridge. The artifact I have photographed is one of the 600,000 rivets installed in the Golden Gate Bridge when it was first built.

I am lucky enough to have a personal connection with the famous Golden Gate Bridge. My great-grandfather, Edwin Fraser, served as a President on the Golden Gate Bridge Board. He represented Del Norte County on a Board of forty-two other presidents. Before his appearance on the Board of Presidents, my great-grandfather was elected by the majority in his district to represent them in this stunning feat of bridge building. On January 23, 1929, my great-grandfather, along with the other presidents and top bridge engineer firms in the country, met for the first time to draft their management plans for the next four years. My great-grandfather voted on the bridge act, a three-cent tax paid by taxpayers, and many other provisions proposed by geologists, engineers, and fellow board members. The Golden Gate Bridge Board of Directors and Presidents earned a $35 million grant to build the Golden Gate Bridge. After four years of hard and challenging work, the first day of construction for the Golden Gate Bridge finally came on January 5, 1933. During the next four years, my great-grandfather collaborated with his fellow members to set goals for his workers to create the Golden Gate Bridge.

Finally, on May 27, 1937, the Golden Gate Bridge opened to the public. As a token of my great-grandfather’s success, he was given a small red rivet, a replica of the ones used in the Golden Great Bridge, to take home. This artifact has made its way down to me, his great-grandson. I have the honor of keeping this meaningful artifact with my immediate family, and hopefully, will pass it down to the next generation. Although this rivet itself is not a part of the Golden Gate Bridge, it represents the bridge’s purpose. The rivet is a symbol of a bridge that provides transportation to 112,000 vehicles and 27,000 tourists a day. The rivets themselves make up the bridge’s skeleton, one of the most critical structures in the bridge. The rivet embodies the innovative nature of the bridge and its technological breakthroughs at the time. Without these rivets, people would not have a convenient form of transportation today in a city bustling with traffic. It brings people together in one grand location to look out onto the San Francisco Bay. The message behind this rivet expresses the true purpose of an artifact. It is a symbol of one of our greatest achievements for the well-being of mankind.

Emily Williamson (age 17)

Christchurch, New Zealand

Everyone needs to take time to appreciate our planet a bit more. We can see the negative effects we have made to the Earth and how it tries to heal itself. I believe my relationship to the planet is a protective one. My ancestors once believed that they did not own the Earth but cared for it. Papatuanuku was the earth mother and they worshiped her. She provided them with what they needed, and they did not abuse this relationship. Today, we are greedy humans who believe we own the land and all that resides on it. We take and take but never give back. The bee in my image does the exact opposite of this. When it takes pollen from a flower, it gives some as well, providing a fair exchange. I believe our relationship with the Earth should be the same.

I would like this place in the world to be remembered for giving back to the creatures of the land and restoring what once was— an exchange to Papatuanuku for being able to reside on her own Earth.

The Earthrise image inspired me to change my perspective, not just in photography, but in my life and in decision-making as well. For this image, Earthrise inspired me to look at the world from not only someone else's point of view but from the point of view of something else. Bees work together to create and support each other and unlike humans, they are not selfish or greedy. They work individually to come together and combine their efforts. I chose this bee in particular because it worked by itself on a single flower. Despite being alone, it has a team and a hive that supports it. This mirrors the epidemic we face currently, and serves as a reminder that we may be alone working, but we are alone together. We are working as one to save lives.

My image was taken at my home. This image always reminds me that sometimes the wonders of the world are right under your nose. You just have to look. We can be content with where we live and what we have. This bee does not complain about the size of the flower or lack of pollen. It simply does what it needs to do. I should not complain about the size of my home or the lack of friends currently visiting me. My home is special to me because it is where my family is. They are the ones who support me through everything, just like how this flower supports the bee.

Noa Polston Schwartz (age 14)

California, U.S.

The photo portrays poignancy. The artifact of this distrust being the American flag. The emotion and memories behind the photograph stem from the experiences of my ancestors, their struggles and failures, luck and victories, now only a story. The meaning of the American flag has been changing since it's very creation in 1777. For my grandfather, Miki, the flag was the embodiment of refuge. America, a place for new beginnings, limitless possibilities, as long as you believe. It was the place for lovers of hope and students of hard work. A land where everyone was created equal, given freely the right to pursue happiness. For my Saba, my grandfather, America was justice. Barely seventeen, he set off to America leaving the despicable horror of what was left of Nazi Germany as a surviving Jewish teenager just liberated from Buchenwald. America welcomed him with her strong arms and smile, whispering "good luck."

Saba built a life for himself, learning exactly how to live opposite to a victim. Rising up with strength. America was good to him. And she was to many. What we need now is to be good for all. It seems to me that it's not our most recent years that have been so pivotal. America was never what it said. She lied to her suitors, feeding them hope when all she had was luck and bias, keeping the agonizing truth sealed into her red and blue lips. "Land of the free, home of the brave." How is this possible when over ten percent of America is food insecure? "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." What truths do women have? What can we grasp? "We mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor." Where is there honor? I see the fortunes funneling deeper and deeper to the top one percent. There are small children imprisoned at the spiked borders, metallic with fear. Our brothers and sisters of color marching in the streets and it's called rioting? Our basic reproductive rights being questioned? Our political system so divided over two white men, our police shooting when we are asleep, our country physically turning upside down from the drastic changes in our climate, children diving under desks at school for their lives, the anti-Semitic attacks filling our newspapers. Ask yourself: what does this flag now represent? How can we reclaim it, not just symbolically, but literally? How can we reclaim our America that we've lost to fear and hatred? We must remind her, show her, teach her that love is love, that trans lives matter, that people of color matter, that immigration camps are inhumane. We must spotlight our climate crisis, repair our hope, and reestablish our pride. As a fourteen-year-old little Jewish girl living in California, I hope to one day see an America that has achieved true justice for all. One that my grandfather and all my other ancestors can be proud of as well. And that one day, I can fly an American flag, understanding finally what true pride feels like.

Iñaki Ramos (age 16)

Mexico City, Mexico

Due to the pandemic, the thought of death has become more present in our lives. Humanity has faced several challenges throughout the year of 2020, and most of us have lost someone we care about. I asked myself: how can an artifact connect us as a society? I realized that the concept of death, and death itself, has been more present than ever throughout the year. Because of the spread of COVID-19, we haven't been able to properly grieve.

I decided to document a typical altar for The Day of the Dead as my artifact. In Mexico, we have a celebration called The Day of the Dead where we show respect and appreciation for the people who are no longer with us. Every year on November 1st and 2nd, families across South America put up an altar to commemorate their lost ones. The Day of the Dead is considered one of the most beautiful traditions because it represents death from a completely different point of view. No one is really dead unless they are forgotten, so this day is dedicated to remembering all the people that we love and who are no longer with us.

This tradition has existed for more than 3,000 years and it has been passed down from generation to generation. An altar has different objects and each one of them has a meaning. It is formed by cempasuchil flowers, traditional food, candles, pictures, and personal belongings. The cempasuchil flowers are a bridge that connects the world of the living with the world of the dead. The candles illuminate the path home and the food and pictures welcome the dead to the world of the living. There is only a picture of my grandfather on the altar because it is not allowed to put a picture of a living person. Otherwise, you will get bad luck. Throughout my childhood my family has gathered to celebrate The Day of the Dead. I never felt the honor to celebrate it until six years ago when my grandfather passed away. It was special for me to set up an altar to honor him.

Since then, The Day of the Dead has been an important tradition in my life. The year 2020 has been difficult for many families across the world and most of us have been in constant pain. When I was putting up my altar this year, I realized that it helped me heal and have closure around my losses. It also helped me appreciate the values that I have learned from each person that is on my altar. The Day of the Dead is a tradition that connects us all in our most painful times when we lose someone we love. It also allows us to appreciate life.

Leela Khatri (age 16)

Ohio, U.S.

The celebration of Diwali has always held great importance to my family. I remember each celebration throughout my childhood as a blissful reflection of each year and the projection of hope for the future. For as long as I can remember, goddess Lakshmi’s framed picture has been around for our annual celebrations. To me, Lakshmi represents much more than the goddess of prosperity and good fortune. She holds the promise of happiness and is representative of eternal hope. I do not consider myself a religious person, yet the memories I have attached to Diwali will forever be priceless. A specific attachment I have with Diwali is the joy my grandfather had during that time of year. Every Diwali, he would take us shopping for new clothes to celebrate the new year and his beaming, radiant energy was contagious. Ultimately, I decided to take this photograph because I believe it captures the symbolism of Diwali.

To celebrate, a simple mandir and a short prayer may suffice. Diwali is a perfect time for reflection. I love spending time with my family and recognizing how grateful I am for the support I receive every day. I believe that capturing this scene projects the warmth and invitation of Diwali, a celebration that represents new beginnings and the hope for a better future. The candles and prayer items that I decided to represent as my artifact connect to our common humanity in several ways. The first is a symbol of faith, an item that one may turn to when feeling discouraged or lost, and any artifact can provide that same solace. The second is the symbol of hope, which contains the strength and value of resilience. I find that sharing individual stories is a great way of projecting happiness and motivation to the world. I chose this artifact because it is something that truly projects joy in my life and allows me to keep moving forward even through tough times.

Ella Andersen (age 14)

California, U.S.

Artifacts in our everyday lives connect those we love and bring us together. I photographed "My Friend Flicka" by Mary O'Hara. This book was given to my great-grandfather, Victor, and it was given to him by his late sister Gloria in 1943. This copy was published in 1941, making it 79 years old. It sat on my papa's shelf above his bed for many years and now it sits on mine. The book has been passed down for two generations and I hope to continue this trend. This book is very special to me and my family. It shows us an aspect of my papa's family that we didn't know; he and Gloria had a great love for the country and horses. Gloria wrote to him the following words on the first page of this book: "To Vic, with the hope that one day his wish to own a horse will come true. May it be soon." These words from Gloria were one of the last things she said to my papa. Though my papa has passed, this book will forever remain significant in my life. It contains joyful memories and hope. One day, I hope to pass this very special book down to another generation.

Zoey Lowe (age 17)

Pennsylvania, U.S.

My grandpa Jerry started running in 1975 after he had a heart attack. He started by walking ten steps and then running ten steps. It took him about six months to be able to run around the block without walking. His main goal was eventually to run a marathon. He trained for four years to be able to run his first marathon in 1979, but he wasn’t able to run it completely. He ended up having to have another heart procedure, so he only did half the marathon that year. He was so proud that he was able to complete thirteen miles. The following year in 1980, his goal was to run the marathon, which he achieved. It took him about six hours and thirty minutes to run 26 miles. One time, when he was running in a green valley, he had to relieve himself. He wiped some parts of his body with poison ivy right before he completed the marathon. He thought this was going to stop him from running, but he ended up taking some steroids which helped him finish the marathon.

My mother and grandmother waited for my grandfather for hours after the marathon was officially over, wondering where he was. My grandfather said that he was still running through Central Park when it was very dark and he was one of the only ones left, but there were people cheering him on the whole time while he ran. He felt so exhilarated even though he was near the end of the pack. This just made him want to run more marathons and he continued running marathons for sixteen years. He completed a total of about sixteen to seventeen marathons, which included the London, Moscow, Marine Corps, Boston, and New York marathons. My grandfather, Jerry was not big on sports, but the one thing he did love was running and that was his exercise. It gave him real calmness and focus. He could think a lot and process his ideas while he ran. It was his savior in both his health and in his creativity.

Skye Stubbs (age 17)

Florida, U.S.

The relationship between Indigenous people and nature inspired me to take this photograph. The gentle gesture of the subject resting on the tree speaks volumes, as if they are no different than each other. There is this unspoken respect shown in the photograph that I have seen firsthand between Indigenous people and anything that Mother Earth has provided to us. Being Indigenous, I remember when I would help my mother cook she would always say, "Do not be scared of the fire. You are supposed to respect it." Ironically, we always had an electric stove. However, that never led me away from respecting all things in life. Whether it was cooking under a chickee on a fire, or cooking on an electric stove in a house, I always respected the fire, and it respected me back. Respect goes a long way. We can listen to the living world with our whole selves by simply being close to nature. Go outside and breathe fresh air for a minute or go take a run in a field. Your efforts do not need to be extravagant, they just need to happen. Also, take care of the earth as it does you. It provides you with the air that you breathe and the food that you eat, and all the earth expects back is simple respect.

Gemma Rossi (age 14)

California, U.S.

For Italians, pasta is a crucial part of daily life. Not only is it a staple of the Italian diet, but the craft of making pasta is passed down from generation to generation. From a pile of flour and an egg, traditional Italian women knead the dough with their hands into the tagliatelle con raggù that my father grew up eating every day in his home on the Adriatic coast. The artifact is not the pasta, but what is used to make the pasta. A tagliere (tale-YAY-ray), a large wooden board, is the surface on which pasta dough is kneaded and rolled out with a mattarello (Mat-TA-rel-lo), or rolling pin. Kept in every Italian family’s household, they are either used daily for traditional pasta or used for making pasta on special occasions. Our tagliere and mattarello are not passed down relics. They were a wedding gift made by Luciano Drudi, the old woodworker who lived across the street from my father’s childhood home in Borella. I will now inherit the tagliere and mattarello so I can make pasta just like my babbo taught me. The pasta will then be eaten by family and friends and will disappear as the night goes on. Italians end the night with liquirizia and gelato. Who doesn’t feel the connection created by good food?

Makenna Hartwick (age 15)

Hawaii, U.S.

History on the Family Table

This artifact is a Sankyo music box that dates back to the 1960s, possibly even the 1950s. Made in Japan, it has been passed down through my maternal family, starting with my great-grandma. She gave it to my mother, who had it since childhood and traveled across the country with it. It was then given to my older sister who gave it to me. I conducted research for several hours to find exactly when it was made and if there are others like it, but have found no answers. When wound up, the music box plays a delightful tune which brings me joy and causes me to think of the others who have listened to it before me.

Music is the only language that connects the whole Earth. It brings people together to dance, sing, have special moments, and make memories no matter what part of the world you are in. Each culture has its own unique style of music, but it is ultimately the joy of sound that unites us all. Not only is my artifact important to me, but the image in and of itself is one that I cherish.

The table that this box stands on was built in 2012 by my father and me. It has lasted through many years of tears, arguments, dinner parties, craft activities, and family meals. Every day, my family comes together to eat dinner on this table with no phones, just real human connection. We talk about our days, our frustrations, and share genuine time together no matter how tired we are. I feel as though many people today lack human connection and could use a family dinner every once in a while. Although you can’t hear its little song, it still brings me joy. My music box is already tarnished with age and history, and in a few more decades, it may be broken and thrown away by its new owner. Despite that, this picture allows it to live on forever, a magnificent piece frozen in time.

Gianna Leung (age 16)

Mississauga, Canada

While I was looking for an artifact to photograph, I realized the immense sacrifice my immigrant parents gave to start a life here in Canada. This small clay teapot has always been an important part of the home. Growing up, I would often watch my parents brew tea after dinner and talk for hours about everything from the cooking time of ginseng soup to a close friend’s funeral in their home country they could not attend. I wondered why it was always accompanied by tea.

This small teapot was the only connection that remained for them as a reminder of their home. It gave them a reason to converse in the comfort of each other and allowed them to stay rooted in the foundation of their culture, even as their children forgot their mother tongue. In the Chinese tradition, the youngest family member serves elders. Often, the interactions that are possible between parents and children become limited as the world continues to evolve. This photograph conveys the idea that despite the development of technology and assimilation to another culture, families remain connected through small interactions made possible from objects of the past. Artifacts are a physical manifestation of the stories of our roots and are symbols we can see, hold, and experience for ourselves.

Student Gallery

Using the Student Gallery in the Classroom